


Forget the Past

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Marauders' Era, Summer Solstice, Wizarding Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Midsummer 1977: Regulus Black struggles to find his path, figuratively and literally, while stumbling through the Forbidden Forest after the boy of his most inappropriate dreams.





	Forget the Past

There was only a suggestion of light on the horizon when Regulus left the castle. Last night's storm had broken the muggy weather and lowered the temperature to something closer to a normal Scottish summer. Now the Forbidden Forest steamed with fog. Fog that looked out of place among the lush green of the trees and the small bursts of colour from the countless wildflowers that would be dancing in and out of view like butterflies in the daylight. The Great Lake was a still mirror, veiled by mist and fringed with shadowy reeds and water lilies. Regulus felt as though he had stepped into a painting.  
  
He moved quickly, his wand held in front of him, until he reached the edge of the forest. Only then did he hesitate. He couldn't see far into the fog, but he knew what dangers might lurk in its depths. Lupin's note, somehow smuggled into the pocket of his robes, had been annoyingly cryptic. It had only told him to come to the Forbidden Forest before sunrise on this day. Regulus had decided not to go at once.  
  
His reserve had barely lasted a handful of minutes. The promise of being alone with Lupin proved too tempting. There had been no opportunity to speak to him in the following days, even though Regulus wanted nothing more. He couldn't help suspecting that Lupin chose a week in which their prefect duties wouldn't overlap for his scheme on purpose.  
  
He should turn around and go back to bed, but then the questions would remain. They had talked and laughed and argued, and Regulus could recall every single time their hands had brushed together as they walked through the long, empty halls. He saw Lupin's face when he closed his eyes at night. Lupin's voice haunted his dreams. But the sensation of Lupin's touch was beyond even his imagination.  
  
The danger of humiliation was as thick as the cloudy bands wafting along the path. Regulus didn't know how he could trust Lupin with his reputation or even worse his heart, but he wanted to. He knew the rules. He knew right from wrong. But no girl with sweet-smelling lips, the soft swell of breasts under priceless gowns, or the promise of hiked up skirts in the dark had ever made him feel the way the mere idea of Lupin's hand in his made him feel.  
  
He would never shirk his duty. Unlike his brother, Regulus knew that being a Black meant first and foremost bearing the burden of responsibility. Sirius could rant and rave against money, power, corruption and greed, but Regulus saw no difference between his brother's righteous abuse of house-elves and Sirius' so-called enemies laughing at Muggleborns.  
  
Regulus believed in noblesse oblige. He believed in being better, because superior actions should always follow superior blood. His desire for Lupin was a weakness, although the finite nature of it made it innocent in the same breath, because, like this longest day, it would come and go and he would cherish its memory without asking for anything more.  
  
He entered the forest easily.  
  
The blues and purples of the lingering night disappeared in the grey haze of the forest. Clear pools of rainwater dotted the sodden ground. Small animals moved in rustles, while drops falling through leaves and needles made the softest music. Regulus didn't lower his wand. No, he wouldn't be taken in by this treacherous idyll.  
  
He looked around him, hoping to see Lupin, but there was no one else. Somewhere in his throat a lump of doubt grew into fear that Lupin wouldn't be there, that he was sitting up in his room in Gryffindor Tower, mocking the gullible little Black with his friends at this very minute.  
  
A twig snapping made him whirl around. Regulus couldn't shake the feeling that he was no longer alone. By the time he had crept around the broad tree to look, the source of the sound was gone. He jumped as a pebble hit the tree trunk close to his shoulder. He swore he could hear muffled laughter.  
  
Then Lupin emerged from the shadows, smiling. His teeth almost glowed in the dark. Regulus stared and failed to notice what Lupin was doing until the cold ball of mud hit his chest.  
  
Lupin took off running, the sound of his laughter floating after him.  
  
Regulus followed him as quickly as he could, stumbling and cursing, while Lupin was swallowed by the fog around every bend. Every time he got close, every time he caught a hint of red from the hood of Lupin's robes, the fog seemed to thicken to take the other boy away. There was exhilaration in his fear of what might happen, if he caught Lupin.  
  
The fog thwarted and helped him at the same time. It kept him away from what he wanted, but it also cloaked his intentions, hid them away from the world, so he could make them come true this one time.  
  
Regulus was out of breath, and both sweaty and cold, when he saw the light. There was a blanket, obviously transfigured from a handkerchief, and flickering candles, their flames ominously dulled in the murky surroundings. Lupin was sitting there cross-legged, waiting for him.  
  
In the browns and greens of the trees, the yellows of the lichen on the rocks and trunks, and the black of the soil the washed-out white of the blanket with its faded blue stripes was a disturbance. Regulus didn't know what to say. Putting his wand away, he sat down and watched as Lupin's deft fingers made a crown out of ferns. He held very still as it was placed on his head.  
  
Then Lupin took one of the long, slender candles and pressed it into Regulus' hands. A small bunch of flowers – eight different kinds – were held up for him to see, before Lupin slid them into the inside pocket of Regulus' robes, where they now rested above his heart. His heart, which was beating fast enough to burst.  
  
Lupin looked at him with his strange moss green eyes. Regulus wanted to freeze the moment into a photograph, exactly like this. With Lupin's hair dishevelled from sleep and the haste of getting dressed in the dark, with his pyjama top peeking out of his robes. That he hadn't changed his shirt made Regulus hot all over.  
  
His thoughts vanished as Lupin leaned forward, put the candle Regulus was still holding back with the others, and slowly pressed their lips together. It was a kiss – even though Regulus was too shocked to do anything, even though it was over quickly enough that it could have been imagined.  
  
But it was real. Real enough to drive the point home that Regulus wasn't brave or strong, real enough to ignite the lingering feeling of wrongness into something bigger. He looked around and realised that even in its sweetness the gesture was a mockery.  
  
Regulus longed for the old days, for the proper rites, when their ways and traditions still had meaning. He wanted to wind tender birch shoots into a ring and place it on Remus' head, and then put his own hands around Remus' as he held the burning white candle, so they could be blessed by the spirits. Regulus would kiss him in the firelight. Like all the other pairs, they would walk away from the bonfire, holding the candle between them, until the extinguished flame told them they had reached their place to lie down for the shortest night.  
  
But here and now it was all wrong: the candles in all their different colours and shapes, the fern, the number of flowers. Regulus surprised himself by being more hurt than angry.  
  
"If you were always going to do it wrong, why do it at all?"  
  
"Because it's different for us," Lupin replied, his voice flat. "Because no one else was going to do it for you, and even if someone had or if it was still something everyone did, you would never be allowed to share it with the person you really want to share it with. Because I don't believe what you believe, but I wanted to do it anyway, so I found a compromise."  
  
"But don't you see that changing it destroys it?"  
  
Something in Lupin's face closed. "No, I don't see that."  
  
That wasn't what Regulus wanted, for Lupin to look as if he had been rejected. He only wanted Lupin to understand. Taking Lupin's hands before they pulled away, Regulus tried to explain: "The way you do it matters, you know. The way any tradition was observed mattered. Because it was all real to them, it wasn't just lip service. Everything that was done had meaning and a purpose. I know we make fun of it now, all the rituals and taboos, all the superstition, but it was real to our ancestors. What we do now, it's empty. They're surrogates that don't mean anything. Even the few traditionalists who think they're honouring the past by putting straw puppets into their bonfires are doing anything but. I know it seems crude and barbaric now, but those sacrifices meant everything to the community. A community of people that was just as real as ours is today."  
  
"And all those hags and werewolves and vampires they burned in their fires for a good harvest or to ward off evil forces, weren't they real people, too?"  
  
"Yes, that's what I'm talking about. Of course, it's hard to understand that now. Things have changed. People have changed. Those hags, werewolves and vampires you mentioned, they sacrificed themselves for the greater good, to help their communities survive and they were honoured for it. Don't you see the beauty in so much selflessness?"  
  
The look on Lupin's face spoke of pained confusion and something much darker. "You really believe that?"  
  
"Yes, of course. I know what some of our history books say. But it's not true. Using force or violence would have tainted everything. It would only have brought shame and failure on the whole community, it would have destroyed them. And if there were people who dared committing such acts, believe me, they were punished for it."  
  
Lupin was looking down at their joined hands, his brow furrowed.  
  
Regulus cleared his throat, suddenly uncertain. "That's why– that's why I'd rather not have this at all than have it as an empty lie."  
  
Lupin nodded without meeting his eyes. Regulus wanted to go back to what they were doing, now that they understood each other better. It took all of his courage to put his hand on Lupin's warm neck and pull him in. It wasn't his first kiss, even if it was the first that mattered. He went in too hard and the meeting of their teeth and noses turned painful.  
  
Lupin's hands framed his face and held him in place. He seemed to search Regulus' face for something, looking so sad that Regulus couldn't say who was convincing whom anymore.  
  
"Say my name."  
  
Regulus blinked, confused.  
  
"Say my name. You're doing this with me, no one else."  
  
Regulus didn't understand why it was so important, when he used to pretend that some of the people he had kissed in the past were Lupin, and for once he didn't have to pretend. He said it anyway. "Remus."  
  
Remus kissed him, gently at first, but there was no end to it now. Everything became deeper and wetter and closer, until they were pressed chest to chest, until they fell down on the blanket, their hands moving over clothes and too little skin.  
  
Regulus touched Remus' pyjama shirt which was thin with wear. He put his nose in the crook of Remus' neck and imagined that this was how the sheets on his bed smelled. And he tried to memorise all the places where Remus' hands touched him and how it felt, even though he knew that his memory and imagination would never come close after this.  
  
The world around them brightened. Regulus looked up to see the sun breaking through the foliage, banishing the fog in its way and clearing the unreal haze of the last hours. Regulus thought of the time and the summer ahead. He would go home alone. There would be Kreacher, but no Sirius. They would go to France in August and there would be too many social obligations. He wouldn't see Remus before September. There would not even be the chance of a letter. The risk of detection would be too great back at Grimmauld Place.  
  
They broke apart slowly, their lips lingering the longest. Remus shrunk back everything he had brought and when he was done, no one could tell they had ever been there, except for the flattened grass and the slight smell of smoke from the extinguished candles.  
  
They walked back to the edge of the forest, their hands entwined. In the light of day Regulus knew it wasn't the end. He couldn't let go. Not yet.  
  
"I'll write to you. But you can't write back," Regulus said, emphasising his words with a squeeze of his hand. "Promise me, you won't write back."  
  
The other boy was pale, the hand in Regulus' cold and limp.  
  
"I promise," Remus said. Nothing more than a whisper, but it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the HP Drizzle Fest @ hp-drizzle.livejournal.com for the prompt _A game of hide and seek in the fog can lead to interesting results._


End file.
